


Overlay and distortion.

by Metacarpus (KingCorvid)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Delusions, Depression, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Gender Dysphoria, Humanstuck, Illustrated, Mental Illness, Multi, Post-Sburb, Suicide mention, implied self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCorvid/pseuds/Metacarpus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He immediately curls up on his side, gripping the blanket with wide eyes, as though trying to recoil from the nightmare he can barely recall. The images that had been running through his mind so clearly not seconds before recede like ocean tides to crash back on another night. He doesn't sleep much these days. He stays very, very still for a long moment until he finds the will to relax his muscles and release the breath he had been holding. When his heart slows down and the adrenaline seeps out, exhaustion settles in its place. He was tired. He was so, so tired. "</p><p>Karkat Vantas has existed on this earth for seventeen years, but his story precedes that. The edges of past and present become a nauseating blur. Juggling two truths, two realities, is a lot for a teenager who was already cracking beneath the pressure of existing. How does one come to terms with guilt when no one remembers enough to forgive them?<br/>[Updated with illustrations]</p><p> </p><p>[BAD WRITING, DISCONTINUED AS FUCK]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A cold morning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever posted online.
> 
> I don't have the story entirely mapped out, so the tags and rating may change.

A bell rings overhead when Karkat lumbers into the entertainment store. The place is cramped and dimly lit. The aisles are uncomfortably close together in order to make the most of the limited space. Passing another person in an aisle would require being pretty far into each others personal bubbles. All of this, in combination with the incredibly stagnant dusty air, made Karkat feel claustrophobic. He is, however, on a mission from which he refuses to be deterred. A movie featuring a few of his favorite actors had been released to DVD. He typically just pirates movies from the comfort of his own home, but this one was proving hard to find in decent video quality. Karkat may be very jaded in many aspects of his life, but he is dedicated to his interest in movies. This is why he managed to drag his sleep deprived ass out of the house early enough to avoid crowds and make the three mile walk from his hive. It might not have been a good idea to come considering his fatigue. He often under slept but it rarely made him feel as out of it as he does today. He wonders if he might be coming down with something.

When the young troll reaches the movie section at the back of the store, he starts looking for the film alphabetically. But...what was the title? What letter did it start with? His head feels heavy and slowed down. He's so tired. He rubs at his eyes and tries to set his thoughts straight, then looks at the letter markers on the shelves to try to jog his memory and momentarily finds that he cannot read the letters written. He isn't even sure those _are_ letters.

Karkat's stomach tightens for some reason when he remembers that those are definitely letters. How did he forget? He isn't _illiterate_ , for fucks sake. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog clogging his thoughts. Everything is normal. Everything is exactly as he remembers it being. Karkat is simultaneously overcome with deja-vu and the creeping sense that this isn't right. The mind-fog thickens as he tries to fight against it. His thoughts race through it like scrambling blinded animals, crashing into each other. His chest feels like its being pressed upon and he begins to breath harder, feeling nauseous. Something feels off. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Something feels very, _very_ off. Karkat realizes what is happening.

Everything is exactly as he _remembers_ it being.

The memory shudders and warps right before his eyes, as though space-time was disturbed liquid. He is torn from the shop on a long dead planet, and spliced into another time and place.

He is walking through the meteors wide corridors. His footsteps cut so loudly into the heavy silence that he almost fears the winged beast chasing them will hear it echoing from the depths of the veil.

Now, he is five sweeps old and watching a movie with Crabdad on the couch. His lusus cannot understand what is happening the movie, but stays anyway just for the company. Karkat appreciates this. Its just some Mediocre action flick but it focuses on the Threshecutioner Corps, and Karkat will watch pretty much anything that showcases his dream profession in all its bad-ass glory. When the protagonist slays an enemy's massive crustacean-like lusus in a poorly directed battle scene, Karkat looks over at his own. Their time together is painfully limited, even if neither of them is killed before Conscription Day. Karkat leans against his caretaker's shoulder. Crabdad skree-clacks affectionately in return.

Then, He is finding Crabdad's corpse half covered in rubble. If Karkat had listened to Sollux and not run the virus, his computer would not have blown up and decimated a large chunk of his house with it. The guilt ties his stomach in tight, painful knots. Knowing he had fucked up, and fucked up _bad_ , was becoming a familiar feeling to Karkat.

Then, He is watching Eridan punch a perfect circle through Kanaya's stomach.

The memory switches again before the smoke has even stops rising from her wounds. He could have sworn her chest still moved, weakly trying to draw breath.

Karkat keeps being shuffled through short clips of his past. The same emotions he had felt back then slam into him each time, and the scene always changes before he can fully get his bearings.

He is standing at the shore of a warm frothing ocean of scarlet, watching the way the liquid left behind in crevices of the islands rocky face darkens and congeals with time. "Just like real blood." he says to no one in particular.

He is group-streaming episodes of Thresh Prince with Terezi and Sollux. They get through an entire season before anyone gives into exhaustion and goes to bed.

He is passing through the first gate that sits high above his home.

He is marking his 250th day on the meteor in a notebook, then shoving it off the table and into a garbage can when he figures out what the marks total to. He could have sworn the journey was further along. It's felt like _years_ already. Dave, in a rare display of respect for Karkat's privacy, says nothing. Dave starts to use his perfect sense of time to notify everyone when a week has passed after this incident. It helps keep them all grounded.

Then, Karkat is pacifying an enraged highblood who could probably rip Karkat's head clean from his shoulders, but he isn't afraid of the other anymore.

He is waking up on a brilliant gold moon, and then staring death in the face... The shockingly familiar face.

Then, Karkat _wakes up_.

He immediately curls up on his side, gripping the blanket with wide eyes, as though trying to recoil from the nightmare he can barely recall. The images that had been running through his mind so clearly not seconds before recede like ocean tides to crash back on another night. He doesn't sleep much these days. He stays very, very still for a long moment until he finds the will to relax his muscles and release the breath he had been holding. When his heart slows down and the adrenaline seeps out, exhaustion settles in its place. He was tired. He was so, so tired. The digital clock on his nightstand reads four forty-eight AM. He might as well get up now, considering the first alarm would blare in less than an hour anyway. The air outside his several layers of blankets is freezing, and the floor is even worse. His legs wobble a bit beneath him when he stands. He reaches high overhead, straining to work the knots in his back. He rubs the palms of his hands roughly over his eyes as he heads to the bathroom.

The completion of his morning bathroom routine is followed by a lot of sitting around with unbrushed wet hair and staring at the floor, working up the will to be productive. This is a regular occurrence for him. Just doing day to day activities is exhausting enough sometimes, but initiating them can be the hardest part. He had time to squander, though, since he wouldn't need to start walking to school until six fifty or so. His mind wanders, and he tries to remember his dream. He has always had problems with sleeping, but the nightmares with such consistently recurring themes and imagery were fairly recent. They came slowly at first, increasing with frequency over the past two years. Sometimes he would wake up and still believe they were real until his mind caught up with reality. He remembers seeing Kanaya die. This is both upsetting and unsettling. He can't stand the thought of losing her. She is like an older sister to him, just like her mother is to his father. The scene replays again and again in his minds eye. A shout, they both lunge at each other, and then a white flash that made his hair stand on end. Then he’s gone, and Kanaya is gone for good. There was so much blood. So much blood. _So much-oh god. No, no, no, no, no, no-!_ He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block the thought before he feels worse.

 

Karkat is stirred from his thoughts when he hears footsteps coming up the stairs, and then a knock on the bathroom door.

“Yes?” he calls out, sounding hoarser than he expected to.

“I’m doing laundry. You want me to wash that hoodie? I’m pretty sure that thing hasn't been cleaned in months, considering it’s practically glued to your back.” asks his dad.

“I’ll bring it down in a minute.” Karkat replies as he exits the bathroom. Karkat would argue if it wasn't so true. His hoodie would be pretty nasty looking if it wasn't black.

His father doesn't ask why Karkat is up this early. Karkat returns the favor. The periodic bouts of sleeplessness were a shared trait.

“Make sure you get it into the basket soon or the load won’t be dry before you leave.” Says the older Vantas as he heads down the stairs, carrying a large ball of his own laundry in his arms. “I can give you a ride today, by the way.”

Karkat mutters a thank you while he steps back into his room. The hoodie is slung over the chair to his desk. It’s a pullover with red strings in the hood. Its gotten worn down since he bought it, but it’s still very warm. It’s big enough that karkat can comfortably layer a long sleeve shirt under it, which is a necessity for the bitter winters in this town. He plucks it from the chair and heads downstairs.

Karkat deposits the hoodie in the basement laundry basket and stops in the kitchen on the way back up.The coffee in the pot is stale and cold, so he dumps it in the sink and starts up a fresh one big enough for both him and his dad. He eats an untoasted strawberry pop-tart while he waits for it to finish, then fills himself a large thermos. When the coffee has been adequately diluted with sweetened creamer (more than he would like to admit using) he retreats to his room once again. He locks the door behind him and takes off his shirt, leaving it on the hook. He usually had a cigarette on the way to school, but he would not have the opportunity with his dad driving.

Karkat digs a pack of Maverick Menthols from the inner pocket of his backpack. He keeps it in a little drawstring bag, along with his favorite lighter. Karkat opens his bedroom window and immediately resents having to take off his shirt to avoid having the scent stick to it. The January wind bites at his fingers as he leans out the window and lights his cigarette. Within a few drags, he begins to relax. He takes deep breaths, savoring it. There was eight smokes left in the pack and they needed to last. He was running low on cash. Karkat looks to the right and watches cars cautiously drive through the unplowed snow in front of his house. This street was usually plowed late because the town puts most of it’s time into clearing the main roads. To his left sits the small patch of forested area bordering the back of his house. A single road cuts through it, starting at the park at the end of his block and ending right by the entrance to his school. This is the road Karkat usually walked in the mornings.

The cigarette burns too close to the filter and the taste turns suddenly harsh. Karkat flings it into the snow of his neighbors driveway. He closes the window and takes a long drink from his coffee. The clock now reads five fifty two. He figures at least one of his friends should be awake by now. He opens Pesterchum on his phone. Only a few names are lit. Before he has decided who would be the target of his early morning harassment, someone else makes the first move.

TG: i see youre up early again this fine morning  
TG: im starting to wonder if youre actually a morning person bro  
TG: up at the crack of dawn  
TG: bright eyed and bushy tailed no doubt  
TG: having a nice mug of herbal tea  
TG: feeding the pigeons  
TG: doing yoga  
TG: shoving mason jars full of health food in your ass  
CG: JESUS CHRIST, DAVE.  
CG: ARE YOU GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS OR SHOULD I JUST SAVE MYSELF ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS RAMBLINGS AND CHUCK MY PHONE OUT THE NEAREST WINDOW.  
CG: OR MAYBE CHUCK *MYSELF* OUT OF IT.  
CG: EITHER ARE PREFERABLE ACTIONS.  
TG: fine chill  
TG: i was just hoping that since you obviously maintain a disney princess-esque disposition in the early hours that you would be so benevolent as to lend me your history homework before class  
CG: WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST DO YOUR OWN GODDAMN HISTORY HOMEWORK?   
TG: im a busy man karkat   
TG: got enough on my plate without a generous helping of boring horseshit from mr.droog  
TG: its like he gets off on watching his students suffer  
TG: remind me to strangle rose for recommending i take his class  
CG: IT ISN'T LIKE IT'S TOO HARD FOR YOU. YOU'RE NOT DUMB, YOU JUST HAVE NO FUCKING DRIVE. YOU'D ACE THE CLASS IF YOU JUST DID YOUR WORK MORE. I'VE SEEN HOW WELL YOU DO ON THE TESTS, YOU LAZY SHIT.  
TG: like i said im busy with other shit  
TG: speaking of which, me and john had an awesome jam session at his house yesterday and i finished up a piece  
TG: the guy is a lot better with composing than i thought, once he tries to write music instead of only playing it  
TG: and the big variety of synth modes on his keyboard is pretty damn sweet  
TG: this is the finished one

Karkat clicks the link embedded in the last one. It leads to a track titled Crystamanthequins. Dave’s music tends to have a dramatic flair, and it makes Karkat think it would work well as a movie soundtrack. He thinks Dave definitely has what it takes to pursue music as a career.

CG: NOT BAD.  
CG: ARE YOU PUTTING THIS ON THAT ALBUM YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT RELEASING?  
TG: nah  
TG: thats going to have mainly raps n shit not instrumentals  
TG: ill probably just put it on my blog  
TG: do you really like it or are you just being polite  
TG: i dont need pity compliments im a grown up now  
CG: DO I SEEM LIKE THE TYPE TO CODDLE YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE FEELINGS?  
CG: YES, IT'S GOOD YOU INSECURE DUMBASS.  
TG: thanks  
TG: so can i borrow that history homework or nah  
CG: FINE. JUST GET IT BACK TO ME BEFORE CLASS AND DON'T MAKE IT OBVIOUS YOU COPIED OFF OF ME.  
TG: what you scared of droog or something?   
CG: NO, I'M JUST NOT IN THE MOOD FOR A FUCKING LECTURE FROM THAT PSYCHO ON TOP OF THE HEADACHE I ALREADY HAVE. "I MAKE THESE RULES FOR A REASON BLAH BLAH BLAH I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR LAZY CHILDREN WASTING MY TIME AND EFFORT BLAH BLAH VAGUE POSSIBLE DEATH THREAT BLAH BLAH DETENTION."  
TG: i feel you  
TG: the dude has definitely got some sort of screw loose  
TG: maybe thats why rose liked his class so much  
TG: she probably filled a notebook psychoanalyzing his need to wear a pristine suit at all times  
TG: have you ever noticed he has an emergency clothing iron behind his desk  
CG: THAT DOESN'T SURPRISE ME IN THE LEAST.  
TG: so how long have you been up  
CG: SINCE FIVE THIRTY OR SO. HOW THE FUCK IS THAT RELEVANT AT ALL.  
TG: you never get online for this long unless youve already gotten ready for the day so lets try that again  
CG: ...  
CG: WELL, IF IT WILL REMOVE YOU FROM YOUR NEW FOUND RESIDENCE UP MY FUCKING ASSHOLE, FOUR FIFTY. WHY.  
TG: you need to start getting more sleep  
CG: WOW.  
CG: THANKS FOR THE LIFE ADVICE. I TRULY NEEDED SOMEONE ELSE TO POINT OUT THAT I UNDER SLEEP SOMETIMES. I ALMOST FORGOT. YOU ARE TOO CONSIDERATE, STRIDER. LET ME JUST SET A REMINDER ON MY PHONE TO DRINK SOME SLEEPYTIME CHAMOMILE TEA AT NINE TONIGHT SO I CAN GET SNUGGLED UP IN BEDDY-BYE BY TEN AS TO MEET MY RECOMMENDED AMOUNT OF NIGHTLY REST.  
TG: you literally look like youre about to pass out or kill someone most of the time lately  
TG: and when you arent frothing with even more piss and vinegar than usual youre kind of out of it and ramble even more than usual and sort of avoid everyone or just sleep during free periods  
TG: ...  
TG: karkat have  
TG: have you been drinking?

Karkat freezes. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected anyone to notice in general. Karkat did drink during the day sometimes, but not much. He never got drunk around others, and always made sure he could still function decently. He would usually have about a shot (or two’s) worth every few hours on the bad days. The days where just getting out of bed was like climbing a mountain. The days where his head swam from night terrors. It just made it so much easier. He slept more, yelled less, and didn’t have the anger or anxiety pooling in his stomach and burning him up like acid like he usually did. He tried to be careful with it. Karkat knew he had been doing it more often recently, and mentally kicked himself for it _. Stupid stupid stupid stupid fucking piece of shit!_  It was a bad idea. _He should have known better_ , but Karkat was just so tired and angry and out of it all the time lately. Dammit, _why was he so fucking stupid?_

CG: WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?  
CG: DO I FUCKING *LOOK* DRUNK TO YOU?  
TG: you know i dont mean right now  
TG: i need you to give me a straight answer or i swear to god ill kick your ass you know i wouldn't fuck around about this  
TG: have you been drinking recently??  
CG: AND HERE YOU GO, PLANTING YOUR NOSE FURTHER UP MY ASS WHERE I'M QUITE SURE IT DOESN'T FUCKING BELONG.  
CG: NO, I HAVEN'T.  
TG: karkat  
CG: DAVE.  
TG: oh for fucks sake  
CG: I'M FINE. I'VE JUST BEEN STRESSED OUT AND I DON'T SLEEP WELL. INSOMNIA RUNS IN MY FAMILY. YOU'VE SEEN THE PERMANENT EYE-BAGS ON MY DAD. I PROMISE I'LL TRY TO SLEEP MORE AND SHIT IF IT WILL MAKE YOU LESS PARANOID AND OBNOXIOUSLY INTRUSIVE.  
TG: ...  
TG: you promise huh  
TG: im holding you to that  
CG: NOW, IF YOU THINK YOU CAN CEASE SHITTING YOUR PANTS OVER IMAGINARY ISSUES, I HAVE TO GO. SEE YOU AT SCHOOL.

Karkat doesn't wait for Dave to reply before closing out Pesterchum. He fucked up, and needed to be careful going forward. Dave would be watching him. Karkat felt guilt knowing his friend's family history of alcoholics. Karkat wasn't an alcoholic, though. He outright rejected even the notion.

It is now six twenty. Karkat redresses and sprays himself with a bit of the peppermint body spray he had received for Christmas. He doubts there is still a significant amount of smoke-smell sticking to him at this point. He picks up his backpack and coffee and brought them downstairs with him. He sits at the kitchen table for a while, mentally replaying the conversation. He shouldn't be making people worry like that. He's fine. He needs to stop acting like such a sadsack around people. It was stupid and selfish of him. If Kanaya saw him like this, he would never hear the end of her fussing and worrying over it. Thank God she was away at college right now.

His headache was beginning to pound.

He remembers a similar conversation between Dave and Rose. Dave hadn't realized how bad her problem had gotten. Their exchange had started out as casual, but quickly escalated. Even drunk, Rose was a master of deflection, passive aggression, and icy snark. Karkat felt like he was intruding by being in the room, even though he hadn't fully understood why humans drinking their strange, bad tasting brew was that big of an issue. He remembers quietly exiting and walking through the empty corridors. He remembers finding a balcony and watching dream bubbles flash by. Their bright lights make his head hurt. He remembers passing right through a big one, and for a second another him is by his side resentfully watching him with blanked out eyes.He remembers- He -

The dryer beeps in the basement. The laundry is done.

Karkat's eyes snap open. He didn't remember closing them. He remembers what he had just seen, though. Had he just passed out? He hadn’t face-planted into the table, but according to the clock a solid five minutes had passed. His headache was easing out. It must have been a dream, but… it hadn't felt like one. It was so vivid and detailed, right down to the feel of the concrete balcony under his palms while he sat. Karkat’s head swam, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Karkat jumped a bit at the sudden question from his dad, who was standing right behind him carrying a basket of fresh laundry.

“I’m fine.” he snaps.

“If you say so.” His dad says passively while reaching into the basket. “...Here’s your hoodie.”

Karkat grabs it and pulls it on, savoring how warm it still feels from the dryer.


	2. Pomade, Pool, Punch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Empty rooms still hold a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't do illustrations for this right now like I was planning to. I don't have access to a computer right now, and this was entirely typed on my phone. I promise to add illustrations when I can!
> 
> The plot should pick up more next chapter.

Dave and Terezi stop by Karkat’s locker right as he is shedding his coat. They walk side by side in similarly confident steps while Terezi’s cane marks out a complimenting rhythm on the discolored hallway tile. Terezi has her thumb hooked in the back pocket of Dave’s jeans. They're a very smug power couple.

Had Karkat seen this two years ago he would have been been  extremely jealous, but by now he's had time to (somewhat begrudgingly) accept the fact that he and Terezi don’t work well in a relationship. 'Not working well' being a kinder way to put it. Both attempts they had made at dating when they were younger soured by the two month mark. He reluctantly admits Dave and her made a pretty great duo. They have a good understanding of each other's needs and boundaries, are alike in ways that make their relationship comfortable, yet different in ways that make it interesting. Karkat and Terezi just rub each other the wrong way when they try to get too close. Karkat's habit of being both secretive and clingy drove his ex up the fucking wall. She seemed much happier now. He's happy they remained close. People who bitch about being in the "friend zone" need to acknowledge that having a friend is still something to appreciate, even if you wanted to be something different to that person. Dating is not " _more_ than freinds", it's just... _different_.

Terezi's current object of affection stops in front of her ex. "Well, _someone_ looks especially homeless today.".

Dave's mohawk-ish cut consists of his tight curls that remain perfectly in place. It isn't clear whether his hair is easy to style or just well maintained, but it always looks good. He recently switched from just bleaching the top blond to dying it bright red. It matches the fabric sleeves and hood of his otherwise leather jacket. The striders are some vain motherfuckers, if you ask Karkat.

Terezi places her hand in Karkat's hair and laughs, tugging at a few snarls. "Jesus, do you even _own_  a comb?".

Karkat didn't comb his hair after showering this morning. He looks at his reflection in the glass over a nearby display full of things like framed academic achievement awards and sports trophies from years and years ago. His hair is sticking up enough to make him look like something out of a 90's anime. Finger combing helps minimally.

"I think we need to start a hair product donation drive for him. Like, an entire charity organization. This is a dire cause." Strider comments. "We'll need a slogan for it. How about...hmm... yeah, no, I got nothing."

"Barbers for the barbarically unkempt? Cosmetologists for the cruelly disheveled?" suggests his better half.

"Nah, that only appeals to professionals. We need something for the laymen. We ain't going for the expensive shit here. Some fucking _conditioner_ would be a good start." he replies.

"I don't need conditioner, asshole. Especially not _fucking_  conditioner. Unlike you, I'd rather not stick my dick in some fruity overpriced Dove product. Your sexual appetites sicken me, Strider." retorts Karkat.

Terezi puts her hand on her chin in exaggerated thought. "Pomade for the pitiful?...Ugh, hair puns are hard."

"We'll need to work on this more later. Tez, clear my schedule for a business meeting. I think we might need to bring in experts to manage the advertisement campaign. Maybe Feferi or Nepeta? Thet _love_ shitty puns."

"Mr. Strider, I believe you mean you'll clear _my_  schedule, since you are very obviously _my_ hot assistant." Terezi says as she pats Her boyfriend on the back of his thigh. She had probably been aiming for his ass, but Dave's a good five or six inches taller than her. "Feferi and Nepeta are kind of one track minded with their punnery."

Dave and Karkat act as if their conversation from this morning didn't happen. The try-hard cool-kid has always been good at keeping up a casual front. The cantankerous shithead has always been good at pretending awkward correspondences never occurred. God knows he needs to be, considering how the clumsy fuck has a penchant for making everything into an embarrassing train wreck. He considers it almost a curse. Being an idiot sucks, but being very aware of being an idiot sucked even more.

Karkat grabs their attention by tapping his knuckles against the lockers. "I hate to cut off this _wonderful_  conversation, but I have places to be. If we could drive this proverbial train of oral vomit into the nearest ravine, that would be splendid."

He begins shuffling through a fat stack of papers shoved in a beaten up green paper folder. The front of it says 'Math', but the papers are from random classes. He pulls one out. "Do you want to borrow the History assignment or not, you lazy shit?

Dave nods and takes the paper. "You can't fault me for slacking. Senior-itis, man. It's a disease. I'm a product of circumstance. And at least I don't constantly skip first period."

"Blow it out your ass, cocksucker. Not everyone has a car!" Countered Karkat.

Terezi moves her finger over the silver watch on her wrist. In place of a clock face it has four wheels with Braille numbers on them that turn to write out the current time. "Seven thirty-nine. We should get to class."

They each head to different first period classes. The two cups of coffee Karkat had this morning manage to keep him alert through Math and Science, but by the time English rolls around the caffeine is fading and he feels like a deflating balloon. The class is working on finishing up essays on the history of whatever genre they choose to write it on, which gives Karkat an opportunity to entirely slack off and take a power nap. He makes a mental note to finish the essay over the weekend, brings the hood of his pullover onto his head to block out the bright fluorescent lights, and settles his head into his arms.

Karkat manages to get forty minutes of unusually refreshing sleep before class is dismissed and feels much better for it. Instead of following the stream of traffic migrating towards the lunch room, he ducks into a mostly unused hallway. The school building had been many things before it was Skia Community High, including a recreational facility, an art gallery, and a government office. The building has had many modifications over the years which left it with a weird conglomeration of sealed off extra hallways and rooms that no longer serve any purpose. Karkat learned different ways to get around these areas from some of his older friends who have already graduated. Jade had figured out that you can get the unusually small door tucked beneath the west stairwell by pushing hard to the left of the doorknob and turning it very slowly with your other hand. All other doors that connect the currently used building to the abandoned recreation rooms only opened from the unoccupied side, probably as a fire safety thing. Aradia figured out where these other doors lead, and mapped out how to navigate them unnoticed. They made for good shortcuts. Gamzee somehow figured out that you can get in through a vent in the boy's bathroom. What the clownish douchebag was doing that motivated him to go for a nice little exploratory crawl in the filthy air vents is a mystery. Karkat thinks he probably used to hide drugs and other contraband in them before he dropped out a few months shy of graduation.

Karkat and Gamzee used to be close when they were younger, but they stopped speaking around the time Karkat started high school. Gamzee had a shitty home life with a dad who was barely there due frequent business trips and a mother who was often out of commission for weeks at a time due to untreated mental illness. Karkat never really found out what Mr. Makara does for a living, but the man had a heavy atmosphere of 'Shady Business' and 'Angry Eccentric Freak'. He was the type to make weird threatening remarks in deadpan, and then burst out in a vicious laugh when you shat your pants a little bit. Gamzee had his fathers bizarre taste for carnival crap and denial of basic science in order to preserve an air of mystique to regular things. Karkat once tried to explain to him how heat transfer from a fire to a pan cooked things, and Gamzee damn near had a heart attack. This was one thing in a long list stuff that made Karkat want to strangle the entire family.

Mr. Makara treated his only offspring with a disorienting mix of affection and animosity. It was not entirely uncommon for him to come home and dote on Gamzee, saying things like how proud he was of his son for being so independent and understanding of his dear old dad's demanding occupation. Sometimes Makara would snap into a much more irate mood and yell at Gamzee for anything and everything. The man did not need to raise his voice. He had a shout that could wake the dead, but would sometimes elect to speak in an icier tone. At times he would ignore his family completely. There was no way to know what to expect from him. Gamzee stopped responding to these mood changes. There was a well crafted invisible fortress surrounding him. He ignored all negative aspects of life through a ridiculous affinity for denial. The 'Mirthful Messiahs' created the wonderful 'wicked bitch-tits miracle we call a universe'. Everything was magic glitter rainbow horse shit and nothing hurt as long as he kept his mind at 30% functionality and occupied himself.

Karkat alwats had a tendency to vent his anger onto others. He used to be even less filtered with his spitefulness than he is now. He was a mean little shit, but no matter how much frustration Karkat threw at Gamzee, it was rendered entirely benign by circus clown's battalion of mental defenses. Karkat could dump all his shit onto the unflappable kid and not get a reaction, making Karkat unintentionally act all the more malicious. Despite this, Gamzee relied on Karkat despite being older than him. The Makara household always had basic necessities, but when his mother was doing poorly and his dad was away, there was no one really _taking care_  of him. Having to be self sufficient could be difficult enough, but it was even harder for a kid who built a wall between himself and the real circumstances of life. Karkat helped make sure Gamzee kept himself together. Karkat did things like making sure that his friend was eating decently, teaching him to use the laundry machine correctly, helping him do dishes, and reminding him to put out the trash on garbage day. When the older Makara was in a particularly nasty mood, Gamzee would come to Karkat's house. Sigmund Vantas was happy to help any of his son's friends.

When Karkat was 13 he spent july over his uncle Slick's house. Karkat and the older boy had talked over pesterchum during this time. Gamzee seemed to be faring just fine. Upon returning home, Karkat dropped by the others house to check on him.

The first sign of trouble was the lawn. Mr. Makara usually takes good care of the grass, but it was becoming overgrown. The large house had its curtains drawn and no lights appeared to be on inside. Karkat took the spare key from a small gap in the bricks and used it to open the side door. Inside there where were food encrusted dishes piled in the sink. There was random trash littering the ground, including a half eaten candy bar that had melted into the arm of the couch. The milk in the fridge was spoiled by two weeks. The mess in Gamzee's room was even worse. The bedroom was never particularly clean, but this was on a whole other level of fucked up. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser and dumped on the floor. Broken crayons, glitter, paint, and other assorted weird craft shit was spilled on floor along with other mystery substances. Nearly everything was taken from its usual semi-categorized pile of crap and flung across the room. Karkat was dreading how long this was going to take to clean. The occupant of that room had been sitting in the dark kitchen when Karkat came in. Initially Gamzee had offered a familiar shrug and half grin in response to Karkat's complaining about the state of the house. After a while he stopped responding to it, his face completely blank as he followed Karkat from room to room.

"And look at this shit!" Karkat spat, gesturing to the paint and glitter matted to the floor. "I swear it's like you do this on _purpose_. How incompetent does someone have to be to fuck up a room this bad? Can you do anything by yourself? Do I need to wipe your ass for you too?"

Gamzee maintained the same lack of expression. He looked tired. Karkat paused and realized that he should probably lay off a bit with the yelling.

Karkat doesn't ask about how Mrs. Makara is doing. If she was feeling well, the house wouldn't be _this_  bad. She was especially adamant on keeping the kitchen clean when she has one of her "up" phases. She's a wonderful cook, especially her pies. Baked good were, strangely, one of the only thing Gamzee was good at making. The mother was likely holed up in her bedroom.

"...How long has your dad been out this time?" Karkat asked gently.

Gamzee took a minute to reply. "what's the date?"

"August second."

"Like... four weeks? I dunno."

Four weeks. _Four weeks_. Gamzee had been on his own for an entire month while Karkat was on a fucking _vacation_. Karkat should have pestered Gamzee more or gotten someone else to check on him. There should have been _something_  done to make sure the other was fine. A wave of guilt washed over Karkat. He had neglected one of the only people that Karkat didn't think kind of hated him on some level. He was such a shitty fucking excuse for a friend.

Karkat gathered as much of the discarded clothes on the floor as he could carry and did a load of laundry while he helped Gamzee clean the house. A few hours and two freshly clean baskets of laundry later, he scraped together a decently nutritious dinner for Gamzee consisting of canned beef stew, freezer mixed vegetables, and biscuits from a refrigerated roll. Gamzee was unusually quiet and morose that day, but Karkat managed to coax some conversation out of the sulking kid over dinner.

That was right before their friendship started falling apart. Gamzee's bubble of self delusion had burst over that month. He quickly changed, becoming increasingly hostile and bitter as time went on. It was as if all the bottled up anger from his life had eaten him away from the inside. He stopped taking Karkat's shit, and began dishing it back out in much more subtle ways than his overtly aggressive friend. Karkat pushed back with even more rancor at first. He was used to the mutually resentful friendship he had built with Sollux where they would rip each other a new asshole and then go back to normal in a constant cycle. Gamzee played it a different way, though. Karkat was the type to pitch a fit, insult you, and then be done with it. Gamzee was becoming the type to hold onto his anger until he could pull the rug from beneath your feet and knock you on your ass. It was tennis vs checkers. It took Karkat almost a year to realize that they were playing different games, and that there was a game at all.

They stopped talking.

A few months later Gamzee started taking pills. From then on he constantly wore the face paint that had originally be a childhood hobby. Sometimes Karkat wonders if he could have salvaged their relationship. He wonders if it was possible to have prevented Gamzee from becoming the sad, spiteful asshole he is now. They sometimes crossed paths in the abandoned section of the building. There was occasionally the lingering stink of weed and non-menthols marking where the clownish boy had been. Karkat once accidentally left an empty pack of Mavericks in the old pool room he smokes in. The next day, it had two Marlboro bolds in the cartridge. Karkat countered with leaving a full pack of Marlboros a week later. They never had the confidence to break the silence, though. A few smokes can't erase the past. Kindnesses don't make things less awkward.

Karkat checks if anyone is around before he carefully coerces the stubborn door under the stairs open. He closes it gently and pulls on the doorknob until it clicks. Its always dark in there. It took him weeks of nearly breaking his neck tripping over left behind crap before he got used to it. If the lights go on, then It's time haul ass like a cockroach. The only one's who have access to the electrical system is the staff. If Karkat gets caught he is _entirely screwed_. There was a risk of both suspension and losing the only smoking area at the school.

Karkat makes his way to the pool. Smoke won't stick to the tile and concrete. He sits on the diving board and lets his legs hang off of it. He pulls a cig and a spare lighter from an Altoids tin. The lighter is old and takes several tries to produce a flame. The distance between his perch on the board and the bottom of the pool is enough that ashes scatter before hitting the ground, keeping them from leaving a trace of the delinquent habits. The coal at the end is the only light source aside from filthy windows. The room is freezing this time of year and Karkat doesn't have his coat on. He had been shaky all day, and the cold make hands start to tremble so bad he drops the cigarette. it singes a hole in his pants before he manages to snatch it back up and put it out on the underside of the diving board. As leaves he shoves the butt down the floor drain in the attached shower room. The third door to the left of the pool room leads to a storage closet. Karkat sneaks out of it and buys a banana nut muffin from a vending machine.

Nepeta waves at Karkat from her seat between John and Terezi at the lunch table when she sees him aproaching. He flops down a across from Egbert.

"Morning Karkitty!" greats the cat obsessive girl.

Karkat is about to remind her how much he loathes the nickname, but she is already continuing.

"Did you watch the newest episode of 'Interstellar Magic'?"

Karkat replies with his mouth full of muffin and crumbs on the front of his shirt. "Hell no."

"Aww, why? I thought you _liked_ I M." she asks disappointedly.

"Yeah, I M is one of the only things I like you don't think sucks." John interjects. "Probably because you watch it for the shitty cliche romance subplots!"

"Hey, the romance aspect of the show used to be fuckin' _excellent_  before the old writer retired. They weren't cliche! They were intentional _subversions_  of overdone romantic tropes, which you would have noticed if you actually examined the content instead of taking everything at face value while jizzing your stupid goddamn pants over the action scenes that take up half an episode while adding _nothing_  to the plot." countered the now muffin-encrusted Karkat.

"What about that romance triangle in season two?" retorts the spectacled boy, opening a tupperware container and frowning at the contents. "Aw, geeze. Cake..."

"Satire. Season two was a masterpiece laced with very intelligent satire that went over your head, no doubt." Karkat defends.

"Whatever, dude."

Nepeta tries to keep the conversation from spiraling into a debate over the plot and writing. There was only ten minutes left in the lunch period. "So, _why_ didn't you watch the new episode last night?"

Karkat grimaces. "Because the new writer is a fuckin moron. His writing is two dimensional and blander than mayonnaise. He uses the same plot devices constantly, and don't even get me started on how he butchered the characters personalities! The show has gone to absolute shit and I am not wasting my precious time on it!" He explains like it's an obvious fact.

Terezi nudges Nepeta while splitting John's unwanted cake with Dave. "Why don't you tell them your news?"

"Ooooh! I almost furgot!" Nepeta squeals. "I've been purrfessionally commissioned to illustrate a limited edition rerelease of the first book to Tavros's adventure series!". Nepeta is only 17, but she has a decent fan base for her art.

Tavros started working on a fantasy adventure series during high school, which miraculously got published when he was only 18. It was a smash hit with younger teenagers. Tavros is currently 21, and the fourth book is due to come out next year. He's a ridiculously fast writer.

Karkat is genuinely happy for her. She works hard on her art, and it's payed off well. "Congrats."

The young artist launches into the details of her project for a few minutes.

"Oh, and Equius is so proud he sent me me new oil paints and a bunch of canvases in the mail! I'm doing the illustrations in watercolors, so I'm using the new stuff for a side project to help me work on landscapes and lighting. I might submit it to the school art show if there's a prize this year, because it's turning out really cool!"

Sollux, who is seated on the other side of the table, looks up briefly from his laptop screen."I think the prize this year is a fifty dollar gift card to that steak place by the mall."

Nepeta absently licks the scar on her upper lip that makes her resemble the little colon and three cat emote, and looks like she might start drooling on herself. She's big fan of fresh red meat. Her cousin Equius, a vegetarian, was not fond of her side of the family's hunting hobby.

The conversation stays on this general topic for the rest of their lunch period, and carries over into Karkat's study hall with Nepeta and Sollux. The young hacker remains mostly silent and occupied with his laptop. Nepeta attempts to goad him into further conversation, but fails.

"Can't you see I'm fucking _busy_?" he nearly hisses, not bothering to look away from his screen. Karkat is annoyed by Sollux's tone. Nepeta could be irritating, but mostly because she is bad with boundaries. She doesn't usually know when to back off and reign in her enthusiasm or energy. People learn to give her a bit more patience. Sollux's response painted them both a clear enough picture of what type of mood he's in today. They back off and keep to themselves. After an initial pause Nepeta resumes her fidgety demeanor, putting her chin in her hand and nodding side to side slightly as she talked cheerfully. She never really sits still.

Half way through the period and 5 minutes into a debate over which fast food chain is superior, Karkat notices Nepeta is distracted. She trails off mid sentence while looking over his shoulder. For a moment it appears she is just thinking, but then Karkat notices muted laughter. He follows Nepeta's line of site as discreetly as possible and his heart sinks a bit. Three students are sitting at a table behind him, and they keep looking over and snickering. One with his back half way to Karkat is putting his chin in his hands and quietly talking in a squeaky mockery of Leijon's voice. When another at the table sees that they've been noticed, she motions for the boy to stop while hiding a smile behind her hand. Karkat is furious.

" _Is there a fucking problem here?_ " he says, clenching his jaw.

They just chuckle in unison like those stupid fucking asshole hyenas from The Lion King, and Karkat nearly throws his textbook at them.

He turns back to Nepeta, who was watching this exchange without much expression. Others tend to find her strange, so maybe she just got used to people making fun of her. Karkat finds the thought very upsetting.

"Just...just ignore them, alright? They don't deserve any of your time to be wasted on their juvenile shit." he tries to reassure her.

She shrugs and continues the previous conversation as though nothing had happened. Karkat follows her lead. Sollux doesn't acknowledge any of this.  
When class is dismissed, Karkat and Nepeta linger by his locker.

"Okay, I'll admit that the fries are undeniably better at McDonald's, but pretty much everything else is absolute shit or overpriced or both. The value menu at BQ is obviously far superior and- _Watch it shithead!_ ". Someone shoulder checks Karkat as he makes his closing statements on The Great BK Vs. McD's Debate 2k15. It's the greasy fratboy-to-be who was imitating Nepeta. Karkat is inhaling to start tearing the asshole a new asshole for some ass-ception when Nepeta does something Karkat hasn't seen her do in a long time.

Her face is set in stone as she struts up behind instigator and taps on his shoulder. He turns around looks down at the much shorter girl. Before he can say a single word she sinks her fist into his gut.

"Holy shit!" Karkat laughs as a few people turn to look at the commotion.

The boy bends over and wheezes painfully. He is at eye level with his assailant. She pushes her opponent's chest backwards while kicking his knees in forward, forcing him to kneel. The hight differences have more than reversed. She backhands him coldly, then gabs his chin.

Karkat has to move closer to hear her following words.

"You think I don't notice you pulling this shit every other week? You think I'm _stupid_? If you have any self preservation skills you will knock it the fuck off. Not just with me; with _everyone_  you harass. If I see it again I will take your teeth as a trophy. ARE WE FUCKIN' CLEAR?".

It's pretty obvious to Karkat that she's trying hard to sound tough, but he has no doubt the threats are real.

Nepeta is escorted to the main office by three teachers. She looks pleased as punch with herself as she makes her exit.

Dave comes up beside Karkat after dodging between the dispersing crowd.

"I heard that Jared Pinecks just got the shit kicked out of him. I'm sure he had it coming. Did you see who did it? Because I think they deserve some recognition for their charity work." he asks, looking satisfied. Wow, Jared must have had a lot of enemies.

"Nepeta.".

Dave whistles, impressed. "Doesn't she do MMA with Equius?"


	3. Sumersault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry this took so long to update? I had most of it done for like a week and then I got too lazy to edit it all. Also, family emergencies.
> 
> I might have to start adding illustrations taken with my phone camera instead of digitally done ones like i had wanted to :(

At the end of the school day Karkat finds himself climbing into the back of Dave's car along with John. Terezi is occupying the front seat after having won it in a game of rock paper scissors.

The passengers all quickly shut the doors to block the freezing wind while the driver scrapes a layer of frost from the windsheild. His leather jacket provides little protection from the weather. The sun had been out yesterday and brought a bit of merciful warmth with it, but in it's absence the half melted snow froze into ice. The temperature has been slowly descending all day. Bare trees that encircle the school reach their dark branches into the pale grey sky. The parking lot empties much faster than it does in spring. No one stays to chat, instead slouching against the breeze as they jog to their destination.

Dave's ride is a red three door 2001 Saturn lovingly dubbed Debra. It's small, but comfy. There's a few small dings and marks, but the over all condition is fair considering it was acquired secondhand for very little. The older strider keeps up with basic maintenance. He is affluent in mechanics, and not just that of vehicles. He does repair work on kitchen appliances and computers as a side job. On several occasions when Karkat has accidentally tried to use broken toasters and microwaves. One time a microwave sparked so much set a nearby smuppet in fire while cooking a hot pocket.

The car's heater needs to be run for a while before it can start to alleviate the cold. Dave turns it on as soon as he gets in the Saturn and rubs his stiff fingers, trying to work the feeling back into them. They pull out of the parking lot and head opposite to the heavy flow of traffic pooling onto a main street that goes towards the suburbs and down town. Terezi flicks through the radio presets, but finds nothing satisfying. She reaches for the soft CD booklet and unzips it, counting internally as she turns the transparent plastic pages. Her finger trails to the third cd on the sixth page.

"Vessel?" She checks.

"Nah, next one down. I guess I put them back wrong yesterday." apologizes John.

She slides the correct disk from its place and puts it into the CD player, replacing a different disk. The album that had been exchanged is held facing the back seat.

"Fight with tools." Supplies Karkat automatically. Terezi flips to page three and puts it in its correct sleeve.

The foresting that surrounds the school gives way to a few factories and empty lots, then the industrial area gives way to spatterings of stores and office buildings. John and Karkat carry on their argument from lunch.

"Just because _you_ don't like the action scenes doesn't mean they're bad! That's just your opinion." John contends.

"Are you questioning my taste? I'll have you know I have _awesome fucking taste_. I am a _gourmet_ of fiction, you filthy casual. I know pointless horse shit when I see it, and at least half of them are pointless horse shit." Retorts Karkat.

The other rolls his eyes. "You just enjoy dissecting the most unimportant details of things and then pretending whatever dumb convoluted shit you come up with was intentionally put in. It's like squinting really hard and pretending to see something better than what you're looking at actually is. You love absolute crap and you know it, dude."

Karkat checks his Pesterchum as he speaks. "Well _you_ just suck at reading between the lines. This is why you almost failed english!".

Nepeta hasn't logged on. He wants to ask her how much shit she's in for the fight, but she might be grounded from electronics for all he knows. "You have no right to criticize my taste. Don't think I've forgotten your history of bad movies, bad anime, and weird crushes. I mean, _Spiderbitch_? _Really_?" he continues, shoving the phone back into his coat pocket.

John presses his lips together and scrunches his nose a bit. His cousin Jade does the same thing when she's mad or flustered. Karkat gets a punch to the arm. "Oh my god, Shut up you assface!".

The other end of the exchange smirks while he rubs his new injury. "Wow. Assface? You think I'm an assface? Your schoolyard level insults sure do sting." he antagonizes. He directs his voice to the driver who has been rapping along to the music for the last two tracks. "I think we need to pull over so I can ice this burn in a snowbank. Fuck, I might need to visit the ICU. Anyone up to donating skin for my roasted ass? ". He turns back to John. "You'll be hearing from my fucking lawyer."

He receives a second punch to the arm.

The shotgun rider cuts in by clearing her throat. "By the power invested in me as the current seated co-captain of Debra by way of official rock paper scissors dual, I decree that you are both _equally_ terrible. You like terrible things. Simply awful. A plague on both your houses, gentleman." she announces in a very stuffy formal tone. "Court fucking adjourned."

The bickering continues until they come to a stop in the parking lot to a small strip of stores. Being a shit helps Karkat relieve stress. Their destination is a little place called Trades, which sells used video games, DVDs, CDs, and records. The store is snuggled between a cozy looking diner and a hair salon.

The inside of Dave's car isn't very warm, but no one is happy to exit it. The cold wind stings Karkat's face and quickly begins sucking the warmth from his legs. Old jeans and worn Converse do not make for good insulation. Terezi strings together random expletives under her breath as soon as she steps out. They all get inside as fast as possible.

A bell rings upon their entrance. The store is small, but has narrow rows of tall isles in order to maximize space. The couple begins searching through the music section. The baker's son stares intently at the X-Box games at the opposite end. The remaining boy feels like he should be looking for something, but can't figure out what. Maybe a movie? He can't think of any film names he wants to search for. There isn't any game he want's bad enough to shell out his limited cash for at the moment. Video games in decent condition are much more expensive than the CD's, so he decides to peruse the music section for a while. Karkat absently paces up and down the isles for nearly 15 minutes before he decides to give up. Nothing appeals to him at the moment, and the closed space is making him strangely anxious. He catches Egbert's eye as he heads to the door and motions that he'll be outside.

The metal bench outside the next door diner makes Karkat's ass slightly numb, but it's close enough to the building that the wind doesn't bother the boy sitting on it, curling his legs into his chest. The lighter needs to be warmed up between his reddening fingers before it produces a decent flame. Karkat sucks down smoke and holds it a bit longer than usual, trying to quicken it's effects. He wasn't particularly upset, but a tight knot of apprehension seems to have made a home in Karkat's lower ribs. Fumigating the stubborn feeling helps a bit. He closes his eyes and begins to tense and untense his muscles, focusing on one body part at a time and moving in a wave. It's a good distraction and helps him to relax a bit. Kanaya taught him to do it after he put his fist through drywall during a fit of rage when he was 14. It was hard to focus and clear his mind enough to do it at first, but Kanaya would patiently talk him through the process in her soothing monotone. He was a lot more open with her back then. Karkat feels a bit guilty for not being particularly honest when she asks about how he's doing nowadays. She has plenty to handle with college and doesn't need more worries. She would just stress herself out. The last thing he wants to be is a burden. He lights another cigarette when the first one starts to taste like filter. Snow is beginning to fall thickly from the darkened sky.

By the time he finishes the second smoke and returns to the warm store, his fingers were nearly too stiff to flick the trail of ashes left by the coal. He zoned out enough that he hadn't really noticed. The anxiety was leaving, but lethargy takes it's place. The others take about fifteen more minutes before they make their purchases. John is infuriatingly indecisive, but eventually settles on a used copy of Halo four.

Terezi doesn't tell what she bought until they've piled back into the car. Dave grins as she puts it in the CD player and skips to track 8. The song begins with familiar piano. The familiarity turns to terrible recognition before the lyrics even start.

" _Oh my god_." Karkat wheezes. John looks at him wide eyed. "Is this fucking H-?"

_We're soarin', flying_

_There's not a star in heaven_

_That we can't reach_

Hell yes. Hell fucking yes. This is happening. Not one person in the car hesitates to sing along to High School musical. The crooning turns to actual shouting when Get'cha Head In the Game comes on. They even garner stares from a few pedestrians braving the elements. This goes on for several tracks until John's dad calls.

"Hi dad.... With my friends.... Yep........ No, I'll do it in the morning.... Yeah..... Alrighty.... On the top left shelf, behind the Jelly. It should still be fresh... Yes, I'm sure! ... Are you making dinner, or is there still left over stew?.... I dunno, hold on.". John takes his phone away from his face.

"You guys wanna come over for dinner? Dad's makin' lasagna.".

Everyone eagerly agrees. One does not refuse Mr. Egbert's cooking. The man makes pure fuckin' ambrosia. His dinners are a delicacy only a fool would reject.

The son puts the phone back up to his ear. "They said yes... Uh-huh..... Uh-huh.... Four, including me... Thanks... Love you too. Bye!"

Dave redirects their course towards the promised cheesy italian noodle-cake. The sun is sinking into the horizon despite it being only 6:30. The increasingly heavy snowfall isn't too much of an issue until they drive through streets that garner less traffic. The snowstorm is seeming more and more like a blizzard. Thick snowflakes are burying things at a noticeable speed. The driver is going cautiously, and even removes his sunglasses. The streets that border patches of forestry are not well lit. There is a change in ground level between the trees and the road that makes it difficult to put street lamps in. Metal barricades placed in one yard intervals keep stray cars from smashing into the trees.

Despite going 20 miles an hour in a thirty zone, the car suddenly begins sliding as they cross a sleek patch of packed down snow that has frozen solid. Dave and Terezi curse in unison as the front wheels sink into a snow bank piled against a barrier, causing an abrupt stop. Dave changes to reverse but the tires cant get enough grip to pull out. Several minutes of trying to dislodge the car only by driving prove pointless. They don't gain any headway. John and Karkat reluctantly go to push.

John takes the side further into the icy bank because he has boots on, but Karkat still has to stand in snow up to his ankles. His toes were already starting to go numb at the very ends. They push on the front while Dave tries to back out. When the first two attempts fail, they brace their feet against the solid part of the snow bank for better leverage. A solid minute of Dave flooring it backwards later, the vehicle ejects itself onto the road again. John shouts in triumph while Karkat straightens up and fixes the hoodie riding up under his heavy coat. The hard snow beneath his feet has cracked a bit from pressure.

One moment Karkat is high-fiving his friend, and the next he is sliding down a steep hill on his back. Half way down his legs bypass his torso resulting in a lopsided backwards summersault, coming to a stop nine feet down when the incline lessens. He ends up splayed out on his back like he's making a snow angel.

The first thing he registers is his stomach still flip flopping. The next is a dull ache from his lower back and a stinging in his knee, left hand, and ankle. He takes a moment to soak in the situation while he squints at the sky.

"Holy shit, dude! Did you just do a fucking _flip_?" John snickers from above. When he doesn't receive an immediate response he swears and carefully starts climbing down the hill.

Karkat slowly sits up and waves a bit, signaling he was fine. Kind of. He spits out the dirty snow that had somehow ended up in his mouth. The literal pain in his ass was already subsiding, but would probably bruise by tomorrow morning. The boy rolls up his pant leg and examines his knee and ankle. There are bleeding scrapes, but nothing serious. The sight of his blood tends to make him nauseous, though. It always has. His hand aches and it hurts to move some of the fingers.

John crouches next to him. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy." Karkat mutters, getting to his feet carefully.The sick feeling in his stomach persists.

Dave appears at the snow bank and kneels down to help the other two climb.

"What the fuck happened?" Dave asks when everyone is on even footing.

Karkat wipes the snow off his clothes. "Celebratory summersault."

They step carefully on the way to the car. Terezi seems a bit anxious. She's had experiences with car accidents and now gets nervous whenever anything happens in relation to a vehicle. She likes riding in them, but not being able to see the road makes anything like coming to a hard stop or hitting a pothole more worrying. As soon as she hears car doors opening she asks for details of what happened while pushing her seat forward for Karkat to get in. Dave tells her the same thing Karkat had told him.

Karkat feels something warm on his face. He brushes his cheek then looks at his hand. Blood. He searches his pockets and finds a crumpled napkin to wipe his face with. This had definately put a damper on his mood.

They soon arrive for dinner without further incident. Everyone shakes snow from their clothes in the entryway, shedding their wet coats and shoes. John drapes the garments over a heater to dry. The house is warm and inviting. A small flame chews at a fresh log in the fireplace. There are many, many framed photographs in the living room of the family. The house usually smells like clean laundry, pipe smoke, and vanilla, but currently the smell of lasagna wafts from the oven. The only thing about the house that doesn't scream 'suburban family' is the ridiculous amounts of harlequin paraphernalia.

Mr. Egbert sits on the couch reading novel with a timer ticking next to him. He closes his book and places it on the coffee table before getting up to greet his guests.

"Looks like the weather's gotten a bit rough. Did you get here all...right?" he asks his son, trailing off when he sees Karkat.

"You have a bit of a scratch on your face, sport." he observes. Mr. Egbert is the type to be cheesy and dadly to everyone.

"We got stuck on the way over and Karkat fell while we were pushing the car." John explains.

The father cranes his head a bit to better peer out the window. He nods to himself as he views the storm. "Well, it wouldn't be responsible of me to make you go back out in these hazardous conditions following dinner. You're all invited to stay here until the roads are plowed in the morning, if you would like to." he says after a moment of thought.

Before anyone can respond aside from nodding in approval to the proposal the timer dings and the cook hurriedly returns to his kitchen, muttering something about biscuits.

"By the way, there is band-aids and peroxide in the bathroom cabinet up stairs, Karkat!" He adds from the other room.


	4. Jam sessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.
> 
> I'll be adding illustrations again, including ones for previous chapters eventually. 
> 
> For updates about the story, check KingCorvid.tumblr.com/tagged/oadfic
> 
> I'm looking for someone to beta for me. Send me a message if you are interested.

Karkat finds cotton balls in the sink drawer next to two boxes of Band-Aids. There are a few big flesh toned adhesives in one box and a variety of small rainbow ones in the other. He takes a big ‘nude’ bandage for his knee and three medium colorful ones. The drawer is full of emergency medical supplies like gauze. Most of the first aid affair is pristine in its package, save for basics and a very worn out Ace Bandage shoved in the back corner, buried. The peroxide is in the cabinet with several orange bottles of various medications. He places everything on the sink before reluctantly stripping his pants in order to get at his bleeding knee. He sits on the cold toilette seat, injured knee pulled up by his chin. He roughly washes it with a damp piece of paper towel, priming it for the pain of disinfecting. He dabs it with a cotton ball dipped in peroxide, which hisses slightly. Treating wounds is a common activity for him, but he always hated using chemicals. It was better than dealing with an infection down the road, though. He uses the large bandage for his knee. The process is repeated for both his hand and cheek, the former receiving two of the colorful Band-Aids and the later receiving one. They made him feel like a little kid. The fingers in his left hand are still stiff and achy. He can hardly move his pinkie.

 

The bathroom is less warm than the living room. He feels a little sick, probably from hunger. He always feels ill when he hasn’t eaten enough. Pop Tarts and vending machine muffins were not sufficient nutrients for a growing boy. Hopefully growing, at least. Five foot five isn’t all that tall. He sits and stares at the wall for a while before sighing and getting his pants back on.

The hallway is laden with family memorabilia and Cirque Du Shit themed trinkets, similarly to the living room. On the wall is a picture of John, his dad, Jade, and an exhausted looking clown in a dingy green onesie at a carnival. Jade is smiling with cotton candy stuck in her wild hair, and John looks about ready to cry. The kids are wearing matching dresses. Karkat wonders if John minds having photos from when he was named Jane after his grandmother on display like that. It was weird to think that he had ever had a different name. When he came out at 15, it felt as natural to his friends as it did to him. His father was, of course, characteristically supportive.

Everyone was just so, so happy that John was okay after what had been a rather bad winter for him.

Dave’s elder half sister Rose was driving to pick up craft supplies and decided to take a different route than usual, later claiming it was on impulse. She does a lot of lucky things on impulse and hunches. It was like liquid luck rained out her pretentiously mysterious ass. People have even claimed her to be precognitive. She was passing an old unused draw bridge when she noticed a moving figure scaling the tower of rusted metal. She pulled up closer to it, and realized it was John. She immediately understood what was happening. He didn’t notice the interloper until she was already climbing up after him at a driven pace. Rose was someone John had vented to in the past. The trust they had built helped her to calm him down. She pleaded, promising that things would be okay if he just held on. She could help. He had to let her help.

He eventually came down with her, crying, hands bloodied from holding so tight to weather chewed metal.

He stayed in a mental hospital an hour away the following three weeks. Not long after, he informed everyone that his name is John, not Jane. A year later on a long sleepless night Karkat asked him; why? What was the final straw? Why didn’t he just tell them before? John, exhausted and unguarded, said that he was just so tired all the time back then. He didn’t want to have to pretend. He felt so afraid and out of place and he just wanted to fly again. Karkat never asked about the ‘again’ part.

John was doing much better these days. He’s grown into himself and got up to a healthy weight. He binds properly. His grades are good, he’s surrounded by people who care about him, and theres a bright future waiting for him. There’s an air of confidence and strength to him now.

Karkat envies that.

When Karkat gets downstairs he finds everyone has gone to the kitchen. He’s arrived just in time. The host is removing his apron and hanging it on a hook over the door while his son brings a salad to join the rest of the food on the table. Karkat sits down across from dave. Once all the teenagers are seated Mr. Egbert dishes them each a generous piece of lasagna. He warns them to let it cool, but Karkat begins almost immediately shoveling it into his mouth. Cheese burns can go fuck themselves. They are a sign of courage. The meal is ridiculously good. Karkat doesn’t think to watch his manners until Dad Egbert tries to talk to him and It becomes very apparent that Karkat’s mouth is absolutely full.

“Did you find everything to tend for your abrasions with?” he asks.

Karkat swallows hard and chases it with a gulp of water, trying to cover up his gracelessness.

"Yes, uh… Sir.” he replies, trying to figure out how to address the man.

‘Sir’ appears to be a satisfactory choice of word, since the adult just nods and continues making smalltalk with various table guests.

He talks with Terezi for a while about the many strange ways she’s experimentally mixed spices and ingredients in her quest to eat strangest shit possible. He seems to be genuinely interested in her experiences with mixing things like fruit snacks and blue cheese. Dave has partaken in this ungodly tastebud-thrashing grossnasty hobby for the novelty. Terezi has always loved anything that is a blatant assault on the senses, even before the hereditary blindness took hold and she lost most of her sight. Karkat uses the lack of attention payed to him to ravenously fill his maw with the mixture of noodle, meat, and assorted cheese in peace. He is feeling worn down. Eating Italian comfort food helps.

After dinner everyone moves to John’s room. They dick around for about two solid hours before they get very, very bored.

Terezi sits at John’s desk while Dave lazes on the floor by her feet. He suddenly sits up and turns to John.

“You think we’ve practiced enough?” asks the amateur rapper.

The other puts his hand to his chin, then nods intentionally slowly.

“Hell yeah. But are they ready for _that_?” he replies vaguely.

Dave grins and then walks to the door, excitement apparent in his gait. “I’m gonna grab my stuff from the car.”

John kicks the other two out of his room. They wait in the hallway, making guesses about what the pseudo-mysterious fuck was happening. They get a big hint when Dave comes back in with some of his more travel friendly music equipment under his arm. The non-musically-inclined pair is let back into the room in due time.

Dave has his sampling equipment on the desk and John has his fancy keyboard set on it’s stand.

John gives a toothy smile, then introduces their ensemble. “Good evening, ladies, gents, and distinguished guests. We are Yoloswag3000.”He says dramatically before giving a nod to Dave.

Dave plays a looping sample line, three quick notes of a bass guitar and two heavy drum beats on pause. It sets a classic garage band feel. He lets it loop a few times, then whistles a small tune. It records and gets set as new loop on top of the first. He adds a variation of the drum bit to play every few loops. Then, he adds small kicks in a few places to add interest to the bare bones he had laid out. After building some tension he plays a more complex drum clip that then transforms into a solid spine for the song. The bass also mutates into something more interesting, switching to a different variation every two measures.

John starts adding meat to the deal by introducing a pretty bit of finger work on the deeper octaves of the piano. He hands out a few long chords that Dave samples and sets to loop like clockwork. John looks excited as he picks up the melodica that had been laying on his bed and begins playing a slow, simple tune on it. He plinks out a jazzier version of the tune on his piano. He plays something else on the smaller instrument, and replies with a modified version of it on his Yamaha keyboard. He repeats this several times, each call and reply set becoming faster and fancier. in the meantime Dave expertly tweaks the support system of the song, adding and subtracting elements like cymbals and whistling. When John’s musical conversation with himself seems to come to a head, he ends it by quickly pressing the same keys repeatedly, bringing up tension. He stops when Dave cuts everything to play a prerecorded variation of John’s last melodica tune on a bass. The had planned this spontaneous seeming song in advance. They both record a whistling piece to layer on top of it. Dave slowly reintroduces some elements to the mix, rethickening it.

John switches the setting of his keyboard to violin that trails even after the key is no longer pressed. He adds a darker tone to the mix and then switches back to piano for when everything gets added back to the mix in a jarringly lively blend of synth and samples and live playing via John. After Dave sets up a satisfactory selection of things to cylcle, he takes the melodica and accompanies Johns flighty piano. It was like a comfortable conversation between them. The whole piece had a feel of a chill 80’s band melting into a care free swing set. It’s different from the novice DJ’s usual stuff. He doesn’t typically take influence from anything earlier than the 70’s, and almost never earlier than the 50’s.

The songs ends on a repeat of the whistling from the beginning. The two person audience claps, both genuinely impressed. The performance duo look pleased with themselves. Everyone settles back down to their original seats in the room. John on the end of the bed, Terezi at the desk, Dave by her side on the floor, and Karkat in front of the door.

The musicians babble about how they’ve been practicing performance pieces like that, but only have the one completed.

“We might record it and post it on youtube at some point.” says the pianist, stretching his legs and resting his feet on Dave’s chest who pushes them off and dramatically rolls further away.

“Theres a different one with rapping, but It’s a bit more complicated.” He continues.

“Oh, and there’s a medley of Queen songs but that one is probably just going to be recorded instead of performed like this one.”

They both grin excitedly over their project.

Despite attempts to remain engaged in the conversation, Karkat feels out of place. He doesn’t have a passion for music like the others. Without talking to keep him occupied he receeds into his thoughts. Actually, lack of thoughts would be more accurate. Its like his vocal mind has shut off and is droning white noise in place of it. He finds himself staring at the opposite wall blankly while slowly leaning his back more and more against the door. The sensation is like going to sleep without being tired. He lets himself zone out until there’s a strange twist in his gut akin to suddenly falling.

The sky is beautiful tonight. The two moons shine vibrantly against the dark violet sky, framed with whispy clouds. Karkat sits by his open window, letting the smell of accidentally fried husktop air out. He thinks about how he could recreate his coding that destroyed the computer in a way that would make a formidable virus. A small grin graces his face at the thought of recking Sollux’s set up and finally showing up that smug a22hole. What should he name his magnum opus of technological shitwreaking? He’ll have to cover that once he’s actually succeeded in creating it. Suddenly there is a sound of thumping below Karkat’s window. On the road outside the hive marches a legal enforcement drone. The mutant freezes. He doesn’t even think to back away from the window. Movement is utterly impossible and it feels like his innards just turned to stone. He numbly watches the drone enter an adjacent home. There is the sound breaking glass and wood, a shrill scream, and then silence. The drone exits the hive and heads up the dirt path away from the dwelling cluster.

Karkat had known the presumably now deceased troll to be massive and a fierce swordkind user, yet the ordeal took less than two minutes. Karkat wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance if his time comes. _When_  his time comes.

Nausea and fear shoot through his chest and he jerks, pulling his knees to his chest defensively and sucking in air through his teeth. What should he do? He doesn’t have a plan for that. Why doesn’t he have a plan for that? Why did he think he could possibly fight his way out of it? Drones are ten feet tall and Karkat is only five fucking sweeps. _Stupid stupid stupid stupid fucking idiot freak wriggler why-_

“Karkat?”

John is looking at him with a strangely serious expression.

Karkat takes a moment to remember that he’s in the Egbert household, not a ‘hive’. The fuck is a hive, even? God, he feels like puking for some reason.

He runs a hand through his knotted hair. “I think.. I think I just fell asleep for a second.”

“You can head to bed early if your tired, man. I mean, It’s only like ten but if you’re dozing off you might as well get some decent Z’s. Go get dibs on the couch.” John suggests.

Karkat clumsily rises to his feet and nods. John supplies a pillow and thick blanket.

Now both hunched over audio equipment, Terezi and Dave are too busy messing with instruments to notice the background conversation. They’re in the middle of doing a shitty remake of the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme. It’s a little impressive how accurately they’re reproducing the notes despite the grating sound quality. Terezi is getting the hang of the Melodica, but intentionally makes the most god awful noise with it. Karkat vacates the impromptu studio as soon as a kazoo get pulled out.

Kazoos are the worst things to ever come at the hands of mankind. There was a short period of time last year when John would carry one around and follow along to the radio with it. Karkat threw it out the window on the highway.

The living room is empty and dark. Karkat descends the strangely railing-less stairs with caution. The couch is comfortable, but just a little too short. The house is warm and the soft blanket smells like lavender. Despite being exhausted he stays awake for a while, stewing in the strange and sudden dream. Was he suddenly narcoleptic like Jade? Gin and lemonade would be welcome right now. Just a little. Just enough to keep the demons at bay for a while. Just enough to help him to make an overdue trip to REMland without a detour to anxiety invoking mental nonsense.


End file.
